Why I'll Miss Her: Confessions Of An Oprah Lover

Oprah Winfrey talks with President Obama and first lady Michelle Obama during a taping of the Oprah Winfrey show in April. The final episode of Winfrey's 25-year-old talk show airs Wednesday.
Mandel Ngan/AFP/Getty Images
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Mandel Ngan/AFP/Getty Images

Oprah Winfrey talks with President Obama and first lady Michelle Obama during a taping of the Oprah Winfrey show in April. The final episode of Winfrey's 25-year-old talk show airs Wednesday.

I have confession to make. It's a confession that will cause a flurry of eye rolls in the pseudo-intellectual hipster circles I sometimes find myself running in.

I like Oprah.

Okay, actually, I'm being a bit disingenuous. I don't really like Oprah. I mean, I love Oprah.

I watch the Oprah show; I watch the behind-the-scenes of the Oprah show. I've seen Oprah and Gayle go across the country twice. I wish it were on DVD so I could watch it again. I'm not ashamed to say I pick up the Oprah magazine. More than one book on my shelf has the Oprah seal of approval.

I tried to read a A Tale of Two Cities, but even love has its limits.

I say this without even a hint of irony. Though, I'm not quite sure exactly what irony is.

See, you gotta understand what it was like for a 9-year-old me to turn on the news and see Oprah anchoring the local news. She wasn't really good at anchoring, but her little talk show — AM Chicago — made me think of the possibilities: a dark-skinned, overweight woman with a short Afro on television.

We kids at St. Philip Neri school in Chicago were sort of fascinated by Ofrah, Oprey, Okrah — whatever we called her then. And she came to Chicago at the same time as Michael Jordan. I knew even then that I wasn't going to be like Mike. But Oprah? I could talk to people.